The album sounds beamed in from an earlier decade, but it runs deeper than nostalgia.
What Sleater-Kinney could not do was control the equatorial heat afflicting the city like an incurable disease.
The cover of Christina’s upcoming double-album speaks to me.
Whiskey on a Sunday is an energetic, irresistible ride every bit as endearing as one of the band’s greatest songs.
There are no floral patterns here. Pallett’s music contains ideas—and they’re worth paying attention to.
As expected, the beat is twerkin’ and Timbaland feels the need to make his presence known.
The ache of years wraps itself around this introspective collection of songs.
For Malo, at least there’s comfort in knowing that he’s never recorded the same album twice.
Stylish and confident to a fault, Pharrell’s success as a solo artist is, unfortunately, pretty much where the album title says it is.
Should the masses unearth this quirky gem, rest assured that many more ears will be attuned to what comes next
I’d be hard pressed to point any particular track here as rising above the others.
For the Best of Us is just a footnote to the X legacy.
The high points of the album at least show that Cyrus has a surprising degree of self-awareness as a songwriter.
There’s not a song on the album that hasn’t been written better a hundred times over, and with more memorable hooks.
The album foregrounds the cold-blooded calculation of its technological origin while still capturing emotions that are recognizably, powerfully human.
Golden Smog distances itself from its alt-country roots on Another Fine Day.
I dare you to tell Rahzel Brown that beatboxing is a thing of the past.
In case her new album’s title hasn’t tipped you off yet, Pink wants you to know she’s not dead.
Crushing Love is as sharp and insightful as 2005’s Made in China was juvenile and sloppy.
The quality and the spirit of I Stand Alone reveal why Elliott has been and continues to be such an influential figure.
Pica Pica is an intimate affair that still shakes the rafters.